


An eye for an eye

by Singittome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Execution, M/M, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singittome/pseuds/Singittome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azkaban is overflowing with Death Eaters. The sentencing begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An eye for an eye

Cause no one even knows how hard life was  
I don't even think about it now because

This room is heavy with a damp scent of ozone, a subtle aroma of sickness and an awfully dark odor of upcoming tragedy. My knees feel weak, and now that I think about it, my insides are churning with something more prime than guilt, perhaps that instinct to either run away and kill everyone on my way, or to fold on the floor in a horrid, sobbing mess.

I glance at the minister. It must seem awfully vain for me to look down my nose at the man who has all power over my life and my death too, but I do it anyway. I've never been the kind to pray for mercy, but of course you already know that. 

Kingsley shacklebolt is sitting in the middle of a shiny pedestral, with two officers on each side. He folds the paperwork and coughs sort of awkwardly, as if he can feel my rapid heartbeats. Oh, this shoot of adrenaline is the last thing I need right now. All I want is to sleep, but they won't let me.

They play the waiting game.

Dementors glide into the room with deadly grace to surround my group. We stumble back and hold our breath, and when I do inhale my lungs freeze with tangible smoke.  
The sentencing begins.  
:  
„Alecto Carrow. Female, forty-seven. Death eater.“ Shacklebolt's voice rings clear and it startles me. The finality of this moment only hits me now, and I watch as an ugly, fragile woman ascends the pedestral on shaky legs.

Carrow woman's face is still as she waits. A tall, lanky wizard in black robes stands before her, and her expression doesn't change a bit. I wonder what she thinks about. I wonder what I'll think about.

„Avada kedavra.“ A flash of green hits the woman's chest, and they catch the carcass before it falls and they drag it into another room.

I'm going to die and I'm scared.

:

I take a step forward, and my shoulder brushes against my mother's back. 

„Amicus Carrow. Male, forty-seven. Death eater.“

A pale, sickly wizard steps onto the podium. Unlike his sister's, his face is that of contempt and fury. Two Dementors have to hold him in place.

„Avada Kedavra.“ The executor does his job. Amicus is now dead, but angry nevertheless.

I'm going to die and I'm scared.

:

I take a step forward, and my shoulder brushes against my mother's back. 

„Augustus Rookwood. Male, sixty. Death Eater.“

Now, I've known Rookwood for a long time. He'd visit the manor when I was little, was present when I have, riding my first broom, collided with the wall. Patched up my leg before Father could even reach me.

He snarls in his last moment, with rage if not desperation.

„Avada Kedavra.“

I'm going to die and I'm scared.

:

I take a step forward, and my shoulder brushes against my mother's back. 

„Edward Crabbe. Male, forty-nine. Death Eater.“

The man who goes to die after Rookwood has my late friend's facial features and the auburn color of his hair. I briefly remember Vin's death, and how I held on to your back tightly when you saved me from the same fate. I never really thanked you, have I? And now I know that I will never get a chance to.

„Avada Kedavra.“

Crabbe's face relaxes before he is dead, as if he consideres death a release. His son awaits him.

I'm going to die and I'm scared.

:

I take a step forward, and my shoulder brushes against my mother's back. 

"Rodolphus Lastrange. Male, forty-three. Death Eater."

„Avada Kedavra.“

This man is handsome and looks too much alive for a dying person; wrong. He spits on Kingsley Shacklebolt, an act he had obviously been practising for, and he smirks viciously before his eyes go empty.

I'm going to die and I'm scared. Doesn't that mean anything to you?

:

I take a step forward, and my shoulder brushes against my mother's back. 

„Lucius Malfoy. Male, forty-three. Death Eater.“

Strangely, I'm not sure what I think when Father ascends to the podium, face overgrown with stubble and clothes ragged and tattered. I'm too busy trembling in fear for my own fate. 

The man I grew up to fear and lived to please looks empty. His eyes, pale and sucked out of joy don't find me. He stares right in front of him. 

„Avada Kedavra.“

They let this one's head hit the floor. Flesh and bone hit the marble and blood oozes down and across the tiles. 

I'm going to die and I'm scared. Do that thing of yours when you save the day. Please.

: 

I take a step forward, and my shoulder hits the empty air.

„Narcissa Malfoy. Female, thirty-nine. Death Eater.“

She ascends to the podium with all the grace and loveliness she possessed in life. She somehow manages to look lovely in prison scrubs, and Shacklebolt almost pities her. Almost.

„Avada Kedavra.“

It feels like a kick into my chest. Hot tears run down my cheeks, but I'm too numb to properly register them. She keeps her eyes locked with mine the entire time. 

I'm going to die and I'm througly terrified. 

:

I take the steps.

„Draco Malfoy. Male, eighteen. Death eater.“

Shall I die calmly, like Alecto? Shall I resist, like Amicus? Shall I embarass them, like Rookwood and Lestrange, or die peacefully like Crabbe? Die already dead like my father? Send my love to someone, like mother did?

Good luck, Potter. If there's afterlife, I'll haunt you forevermore.

I shall die crying.

„Avada Kedavra.“

:

Harry stopped dead in tracks. On the very edge of the Diagon Alley, a boy of ten is selling Daily Prophet.  
On the cover, thick, greasy black letters spell "twenty Death Eaters executed under minister Shacklebolt's command"  
He feels something strange, not really physical pain, but a pang in his chest of something more prime than guilt, perhaps that instinct to either run away and kill everyone on my way, or to fold on the floor in a horrid, sobbing mess.  
He considers buying the paper, but after a second or so of contemplation and a brief inspection of his pockets for stray knuts, he shakes his head and continues walking on in quick, long paces.


End file.
